


What we choose to be

by ElenyasBlood



Category: Assassin's Creed, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed, Angry Sex, Angst, Body Worship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Protective Jensen, Rough Sex, Twink Jared, loss of family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:07:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenyasBlood/pseuds/ElenyasBlood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/><b>"We are what we choose to be."</b> - <i>Altaïr Ibn La-Ahad</i><br/></p>
</div><br/>Being the son of one of the most respected man in all of Florence, Jared has a good life, a family and friends he can rely on. His life is filled with faineance and the feeling of being free and invincible. But sometimes things change and when Jared finds himself robbed of everything he cared about, he's quickly faced with the truth-- and with it, with the offer to reclaim what's rightfully his.
            </blockquote>





	What we choose to be

 

Jared smiled as he watched his big brother slip from the plain roof of their mansion and into the courtyard, joining him on the small stone bench.

“Buongiorno, brother,” Jeff greeted and shot him a bright smile. “Up already?”

Jared nodded. “Father made me rise early." he replied with a frown. "Said he needed my help.”

“Poor you, he's in no good mood after he heard the news of your nightly adventures with Ricardo,” Jeff laughed and teasingly pulled Jared's hair with a grin.

Jared ducked his head at that, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Yeah, I know,” he mumbled and was actually grateful that their father chose exactly that moment to step out of his office and into the warm morning sun.

“My sons,” Gerald Padalecki greeted briefly, a steep crease appearing between his eyebrows before he went straight to the point of his evident discomfort. “I summoned the both of you to have a word between father and sons.” He paused meaningfully. “I know you're young, I know you want to enjoy your life and I don't even blame you. Lord knows I wasn't exactly a prig when I was at your age. But—” and the faint smile vanished from his lips, his arms coming to cross in front of his chest—“I've no time for your exuberant behavior. Jeff, we've talked about that before but since you seem a little deaf to my words I'm going to say it again: no sleeping around with Christina Vespucci anymore, capisci? I already have enough trouble with the Sivori trying to ruin our name and don't need further reasons to worry with my sons either whoring around—” he eyed Jeff with a sharp gaze—“or going on midnight-strolls on Florence's rooftops with the coinmaster's son,” he finished with his eyes falling onto Jared.

“Sì, Papà,” both the boys replied dutifully after a beat of uncomfortable silence, Jared even having the decency to blush a little under his father's scolding gaze.

“Va bene!” Gerald announced and finished the conversation with a short clap of his hands, winking at his sons in an attempt to lift the heavy mood. “That being said, Jeff, your mother asked for you earlier, go and see if you can help her out. Jared, you're coming with me, I'll have you deliver a few letters.”

“Sí, papà,” Jared and his brother repeated and after a brief exchange of mischievous grins, Jared followed his father into the mansion while Jeff went to find their mother.

The air inside the office was stale and smelled like paper and ink. Dust danced in the beams of morning light that filtered through the thick curtains and Jared felt a familiar peace settling into his chest. He loved that room, and—having grown up in it—knew every corner, every shelf and every little crack in the floor panels by heart. It was a safe haven and he'd spent many hours chasing mice and memorizing the patterns of the marble walls by the fireplace.

His father had already settled behind the large desk and the look on his face was clouded with concern when Jared approached him.

“Jared, I need you to deliver these to—let's say _friends_ of mine,” he explained and dropped two tiny bundles on the table, both carefully wrapped in brown paper. “They're waiting for you here,” he tapped on the map spread out on his desk, “and here. Do it quick. Stop for no one, keep them safe. Not a soul can know of their existence. Can you do that for me?”

Jared nodded. “What's inside?”

Gerald's face fell even more. “Evidence, son. These documents prove that the Sivori commanded your Uncle Claudio's death as he tried to uncover their dirty business with the slave traders from across the sea. With these packages I'll hand in the truth and see it done. I want to see the Sivori hang for their crimes against this city—and against our dear family.”

Gasping, Jared reached for the carefully hidden evidence. “How did you come by these?”

“Research, son,” Gerald explained. “For years I have tried to uncover the mystery of my brother's death and now finally I've found the missing piece. The Sivori made trade with the Catalano all along; that's how they got so rich in the first place and managed to conceal their crimes.”

Jared's mouth fell open. “But the Catalano have been banished from the city for years! They got stripped of all their titles for plotting against the Medici during the dearth, back when I was a little boy!” he exclaimed, agitated enough to feel his cheeks heat up in the light of the recent revelations.

“I know, son. But they're still out there and they're still seeking Lorenzo de' Medici's life. And it's all in those documents. The plotting, the proof that they murdered your uncle Claudio in cold blood and their intent to strive for murder again,” Gerald's hands were balled into fists, his lips a thin line and his eyes hard with wrath when he said: "You see, my son, your task is of utmost importance. You can not fail,"

“I will see it done, Papà,” Jared huffed out, a clipped reply before he grabbed the packages, storing them safely under his exquisite shirt. Anger flared through him like wildfire and he couldn't wait to run the hot, tight feeling away with a good, long run through the city.

He was already halfway out of the door when his father's voice called for him again. “And Jared? Travel safe, away from the _busy_ paths.”

Jared's hazel eyes went wide as he grasped the implication lying in his father's words. “But you said I mustn't—”

“This is an _exception_ , son,” Gerald cut in and the look on his face softened slightly, his features turning warm. “Be safe up there.”

“I will,” Jared nodded and with that he bid his father goodbye to leave the comfortable office in favor of stepping into the bright light of the Italian sun.

 ♦ 

It wasn't hard for Jared to find his way onto Florence's rooftops. His steps were quick and certain as he hauled himself up, feeling the wind in his hair and the sun kissing his skin as he reached for the red shingles of their mansion. He was already high above the ground now, the people on the streets mere colorful blotches in the corners of Jared's eyes.

“An exception,” he mumbled to himself as he started his slow jog across the rooftops, carefully balancing himself over the small ridges and brinks of the city's houses. The sun stood high in the sky, sending her golden rays to blind Jared and determined to misguide him in his dangerous walk. But he didn't fall. He knew the rooftop paths around his father's mansion well, had wandered them at day and night. He had played hide and seek between the chimneys with Ricardo and Jeff and had launched himself over many chasms back in the days, finding new ways to travel around the gaping abysses when the road underneath turned wider. Jared knew where to put his feet, knew where to place his strong fingers and the harsh stone against his palms never failed to calm his heated temper.

He arrived at his first meeting place without much difficulty. The man he handed the package to looked a little bit shady, a brown hood covering most of his face and his clothing appearing rather shabby. He didn't thank Jared and almost ripped the bundle out of his hands before vanishing into the shadows of a giant archway.

“You're welcome,” Jared yelled after him sardonically, and shook his head in disbelief. His brows were furrowed while he went for higher ground, crawling up a steep building with next to no effort. “What a jerk,” he mumbled to himself as he fell into pace again to head towards the Piazza della Signoria.

Jared took his time. He wasn't as familiar with this route and though he was bursting with confidnce, he yet decided to play it safe. With both feet firmly planted on the sand-colored shingles, he made his way through the city. He made sure to avoid crossing any line of sight with the occasional archer—placed there by the overly ambitious city guard—and with his cautious movements it was already noon when he arrived at the Piazza. The second recipient looked a little less sleazy, but his movements were jittery and the way he hastily glanced around revealed his concern that someone might be lurking in the shadows.

“That all?” he asked as Jared handed him the package. He grabbed it just as avidly as the other guy.

“That's all my father gave me,” Jared confirmed and tried to step closer, catching a little bit more of his customer's face.

The guy gulped. “Y-Your father?”

“I'm Jared Padalecki, Gerald is my father,” Jared nodded as he caught a glimpse of the man's face. A shadow of a beard, dark eyes, a crooked nose and deep folds around a thin mouth.

The man's stance folded. “I—I gotta go,” he croaked and was dashing out of his hiding place with what could be a frown.

“Wait!” Jared tried to get hold of the man, but he was already heading down the busy street with wide steps, roughly pushing people out of his way.

Cursing quietly, a visibly annoyed Jared decided to spent the hot midday hours in the shadow of the Palazzo, at least until he had caught his breath and decided what else to do on this godawfully hot, sunny day. Content with his current location nex to the blacksmith and near the fountain, he hopped on top of a few crates, ready to sit and watch the town's folk tend to their businesses.

After getting his father's mission done, Jared felt somewhat satisfaction settling inside his chest and something close to triumph curled in the pit of his stomach. He did it. He'd delivered the final evidence that would lead to the Sivori's arrest until their trials. They would pay for what they'd done to the city and his family—and Jared had played a small part in the process of their arrest. He had done what his father had asked for, had helped putting the final knot on the noose the Sivori would hang on and that was quite something, right?

Utterly satisfied with himself, Jared took his time to watch the Piazza in all its glory, with the midday sun smiling down on the fair cobblestone. Florence was a beautiful city and in the prime of its existence. People yearned to spend their lives in its streets and everyday it grew larger. It was a good thing his parents had chosen Florence as their new residence and Jared couldn't be more proud of the blooming city he called home. It came as no surprise tough that despite all the lively glory, Jared soon got tired of the noisy bustling around him and after purchasing a bun from the neraby bakery he decided to go and see Ricardo. He found his best friend not far from the Piazza, in one of the small inns along the Via Masaccio, where he joined Ricardo for wine and a late lunch. The food was good, the company hysterical, and it was already late afternoon when Jared finally willed his legs towards his father's mansion after having successfully wasted half a day's worth with light drinking and social amusement.

The Padalecki's lived in one of the noble neighborhoods of Florence. With Gerald being a successful businessman and trading goods with merchants from all over the country, the family had achieved great glory and fortune over the years. And if Gerald was known for his stubbornness and brilliant mind, everyone praised the beauty and grace of his dear, beloved wife Sharon. They were rich on friends—influential families all of them—and nothing seemed to alter the Padalecki's reputation as one of the most honorable families in all of the Tuscany. Born as the second child, Jared was to aid his father in his business until Jeff would come of age and accepted his position as Gerald's heir. But until then Jared was determined to live his life to the fullest, enjoying wine and his freedom and—most of all—seeing the Sivori finally pay their debts.

The walk home was long and every inch of the dusty road seemed to stretch under Jared's heavy feet. What seemingly was but a single step on his way across the rooftops, now felt like a mile down in the streets and soon Jared found himself bored and cranky. For once the sun was hiding behind a bank of clouds—for which the boy was grateful since it was already unbearably hot—and Jared inhaled deeply when he finally spotted the home stables.

The air inside the building smelled like hay and dust and Jared couldn't help but sneeze. It was eerily silent between the horse's stalls, no stable boy busying himself cleaning out the area or watering the stomping animals. Jared considered looking for those lazy boys, but decided to leave them to their peace and go to find some more wine instead—when he suddenly froze. Something wasn't right. The serene silence, the horses shivering with anxiety, their muzzles wet with white foam and the total absence of voices floating in the warm air was terrifying and Jared covered the distance to the courtyard in a sprint.

His feet thrumming against the cobblestones, he burst out of the stables only to find himself staring into the dead eyes of their private guard's captain.

“No,” Jared screamed in anguish as he came to a skidding halt next to the butchered man. “No, Diego, no!” Blood soaked through Jared's pants as he knelt down to cup his protector's head in his hands, laying their forehead's together for the briefest moment before a loud clang inside the main house made Jared get up onto his weak—oh so _weak_ —legs again. He felt nauseous, his knees buckling with every step he took towards the front door, and silent tears streamed down his cheeks.

“Mamma? Papà?” He called as soon as he had crossed the threshold and for a moment nothing but silence answered him—dreadful and heavy and absolute silence. Then he heard footfalls inside the kitchen and Mia, their house maid, appeared in the door frame.

“Messere Jared,” she cried out and was up and against Jared's chest seconds later, her chubby face buried in his artfully sown velvet shirt.

Plucking the wailing girl from his chest, Jared pushed down the bile in his throat so he could talk. “Mia, what happened? Where's my family?” he found himself yelling, voice high-pitched and panicked as he held the maid at arm's length.

“T-They came for u-us! all of us,” Mia replied, hiccupping. “Killed Leon and m-my boy—”

Panic washed over Jared in a wave of cold, sour dread. “ _Who_ came? Where is my family?”

The woman attempted to curl into Jared again, but he was already out of reach and half way up the stairs. “Mamma?” he cried out in despair, clutching the door handles as he stumbled inside every room just to find more dead guards—Vincenzo, Emilio, Luis; their eyes forever frozen in a cold stare and their blood covering the hallway walls. It smelled like steel and rust and Jared wrenched back the tears as he staggered into his sister's room.

“Megan?” he screamed at the top of his lungs but only silence greeted his desperate plea. “Someone? Anyone?”

There was a puddle of blood on the floor in Megan's room, and another in front of his parent's bedroom and behind every closed door Jared found more slaughter, more signs of violence and more needless death. Their servants—young and old, didn't mater—lay slain across the carpet, their guts scattered across the thick fabric and their clothing ripped open. Dead guards lined the gallery and Jared found himself screaming until his voice cracked and his throat spat out blood.

But no one answered; not his father nor his brother, and when he finally fell into dead silence, the only thing he could hear were the quiet sobs of Mia downstairs. Jared got up from where he had fallen to his knees and dragged himself downward again, his pants stained with the blood of his family.

The girl was still standing by the kitchen door and wrenching out her name, Jared found himself asking: “What happened? Where is my family? You have to answer me—”

“It was Antonio Sivori himself,” Mia whispered, haunted. “Your Lady mother, she tried to run but—”

Biting back a sob, Jared felt his patience falter. “Where are they?” he cut in and the hollow inside his chest expanded endlessly. 

“I don't know. They dragged your brother and f-father outside. I was h-hiding inside the kitchen, I was hiding, yes.” Her voice became slurry. “I was hiding, t-tried to take my boy with me, tried t-to keep him safe. 'S my job to keep 'im safe, right? They dragged 'em away, all of 'em. I was hiding,”

Jared felt a new wave of nausea wash over him. “Dragged them where?”

But Mia didn't reply again, no matter how soft Jared spoke to her. Her words had turned to unintelligible gibberish and eventually Jared let go of her, leaving her to her own devices as he stepped outside again just in time to hear noises filtering through the thick air.

“The blacksmith's shop,” he mumbled and slithered through the heavy layer of clotted blood that seemed to cover every inch of the precious the cobblestone, heading for the worker's building. It was made out of firm stone—a little fort inside the mansion—and hope blossomed in Jared's chest. What if the res tof his family had managed to hide inside, doors barred and armed with what they could find in the fires of the forge? He knew that Jeff was quite a fighter, quick with sword and dagger, as was his father. What if they had fought back and won? What if—

Jared almost broke the blacksmith's door down as he rushed inside just to see all hope crashing down on him—and just in time to see a brutish man taking his brother's life by beheading him with a huge ax. Gerald's body—slaughtered like any ordinary pig—was spread across the anvil and his intestines poured out of his stomach.

No word left Jared's mouth, no scream, no plea for mercy as they came for him. He didn't fight back, didn't try to escape. There was nothing left inside him and he almost welcomed the sharp blade against his throat.

“So, you're the last of them, huh?” Antonio Sivori rasped as he stuck his ugly face into Jared's. “Pretty boy you are,” He pressed the dagger a little closer, breaching the smooth skin across Jared's bobbing Adam's apple. “You're the one causing my brother so much trouble, aren't you?”

Jared didn't react.

“Speak,” Antonio yelled and something close to madness flickered through his blue eyes. After all that slaughter and bloodshed, he was all too willing to lose his temper and Jared embraced certain death with a long, silent stare.

Riled up, the youngest Sivori pushed impossibly closer into Jared's space. “You little shit, I'll have you—”

A rough shout from outside cut Antonio's musings short. “Messere, there's trouble coming our way!”

And suddenly everything happened too fast. The blade was ripped from Jared's throat and a hand circled his arm in an iron grip. Pressed against a firm chest, he was dragged away from the forge and the hell that broke loose. Away from his family's slaughtered bodies and their dead eyes, away from blood-stained walls and into the silence of the stables.

Strong arms yanked him onto a horse and held him upright as the beast fell into a hard gallop. Jared didn't see where they were headed, didn't care. Eyes squeezed shut, his head bobbing against his chest with the horse's bucking movements and his body completely numb, he wished for nothing but death. Every fiber beneath his skin screamed for the black finality of dissolution, each breath burning inside his rattling lungs until he eventually drifted into devastating darkness.

 ♦ 

Jared awoke with a start. Hands clutching rough-spun sheets and his mouth open as if it was about to release a piercing scream, he flung his body into an upright position, his eyes snapping open. It took them a moment to adjust to the fuzzy light before they could catch a glimpse of his surroundings.

“Where am I?” Jared heard himself croak. His voice felt broken and his throat was tight from screaming and what felt like a bandage pressing against it.

“You're safe,” a low voice replied and squinting, after a few moments of utter silence, Jared spotted a tall man to his right. He was dressed in a white robe, a wide hood pulled low over his face, and a respectable selection of weapons hanging from his belt.

A sharp jolt of pain interrupted Jared's observations as he turned his head and his fingers flew up to his throat, slowly touching the tight bandage there. “What happened to my neck?” he asked, blinking slowly.

“You were wounded by Antonio Sivori's blade when he attempted to murder you,” the man replied dutifully and Jared shook his head in a vain attempt to make things less real with the slow gesture.

“Where's m-my family? Are they safe, too?” he whispered, that tiny, painful shred of hope still lingering inside him. Desperately he tried to convince himself that everything had been just another nightmare. But the man opened his mouth and the words that poured out of it shattered Jared's illusions with the force of a thousand suns.

“They're dead, Jared.”

“No!”

Another voice interrupted his upcoming protest. “We're sorry Jared, but it's the truth. Giovanni Sivori sent his eldest son to execute your family. Your father was betrayed, all of you were betrayed.”

“But... I d-don't understand—I was... I-I... I delivered the evidence, I didn't... I never...” Jared babbled, his head suddenly empty and he felt almost delirious. Tears welled in the corners of his eyes and there was a hole in his chest, pounding, gaping, pulsating and eting away at his very being.

“The informants you handed the letters to were corrupt, bought with blood-money by the Sivori,” the man explained and shuffled closer, sitting down next to Jared on a small stool. “They back-stabbed your father and delivered the evidence to Giovanni Sivori himself and not to the judges as planned.”

“But... it was... m-me then who—”

“No,” a harsh voice cut in and the gruff word almost gave Jared whiplash. “Don't even go there, kid.”

“It's not your fault. You were blinded,” the man next to Jared explained and gestured another person—seemingly a woman—over.

Stepping closer, the figure attempted to soothe Jared's troubled mind. “We're here to help you, Jared,” she whispered—but to no avail.

“No, don't l-lie to me, i-it was _me_ who handed them t-the final piece, I... I delivered my family's death sentence.” And then Jared's world crashed down on him and he curled into a ball of tears and heat and pain and screamed until his lungs collapsed.

 ♦ 

The room was bathed in merciful half-light when Jared awoke the next time and it took him a moment to scan his surroundings before he dared to make a move. The room was scarcely furnished, just his bed and a small table with a candle on top. The stool the man in white had sat on earlier completed the ensemble and the walls were dusty, the once white plaster faded into a dirty beige over the years.

“Where am I?” Jared asked into the silence and his voice stirred movement in the corner to his right.

“Outside the city walls,” came the answer in the same low voice that had replied to Jared before.

Jared nodded, his stiff muscles protesting. “And who are you?”

The man in white approached and Jared was glad when he sat down on the stool again, hunching his shoulders in an attempt to diminish his bulky form. “We're the Brotherhood, Jared, _assassini_. And we're here to help you.”

Jared stopped short. “Help me?” he asked incredulously and forced his dry, chapped lips into a thin line. “If you're here to kill me you're more than welcome to, but if you're here to mock me—”

“We're not here to mock you, and we won't kill you either,” a female voice interrupted and another person materialized out of the lurking shadows. The woman wore a white robe, too, but her hood was down, baring a beautiful face, framed by thick ebony locks. Her eyes were just as dark and she smiled softly.

“We're here to make you an offer.”

Jared felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest. “An offer? I don't think there's something you can offer I could be possibly interested in,” he slurred and clutched the sweaty sheets under his fingers harder, pulling them up to his chin. He was still wearing his blood-soaked clothes.

“We're here to offer you revenge,” the man in white continued, paying no attention to the interruption, his mouth—the only thing Jared could see for the rest of his face was covered by the shadows of his wide hood—curling into a smile. “Become one of us, become part of the Brotherhood and we'll teach you how to kill your family's murderers.”

They words dropped like lead out of the man's mouth and a long silence ensued. Jared didn't know what to answer and the hysterical, manic laugh was still stuck in his throat. His head seemed to be filled with cotton wool and every muscle in his body was sore from struggling in his sleep. Beads of sweat pooled in the hollows above his collarbones and his eyes stung from crying and watching his brother's head fall down over and over again in his pain-fueled dreams.

This couldn't possibly be real. “Who are you really?” Jared asked eventually and the man didn't stop smiling as he replied.

“My name is Jeffrey and I'm an _assassino_ ,” he explained, his teeth glistening. “And I'll promise you by the honor of your father we'll teach you how to kill and thus restore the peace inside your heart.”

“But I... I can't,” Jared protested weakly. Something fierce rung through his body at the mention of possible revenge.

The woman laughed. “We've already been watching you for years, young man, and we're pretty sure you _can_.”

“It's true,” Jeffrey confirmed and finally lifted his hood to show a wild, dark face, his hair a mass of black curls and his cheeks covered in a scruffy beard. He looked more like a pirate than an assassin, Jared thought, but still there was something intriguing about the man. “We've been watching your escapades and your walks across Florence's rooftops since you started climbing and now your time has come. Join us, Jared, become a Brother of the assassins and watch the Sivori fall to their death.”

Jared stilled. “What do I have to give you in return?” he asked after a few moments of silence and Jeffrey grinned again.

“Aahh, you're a clever boy,” he mused, nodding his approval. “The only thing we demand in return is your skill. Being part of the Brotherhood means to serve our goal, to fight our enemies and to protect your Brothers. It means living by our credo and acting like a true assassin. Always,”

Jared was sure everyone could hear the gears grinding in his head as soon as silence stretched inside the room. He was agitated, his body suddenly vibrating under the sheets and the thought of avenging his family was all-engulfing. Wrath consumed the pain and fear and after a few heartbeats he felt himself ready for the fight.

“When will I be able to kill the Sirvori?”

Chuckling lowly, Jeffrey shook his head. “ _We_ decide when you're ready. You'll be trained by one of our best, a master assassin. He'll test your strength. The days will be long and the nights even longer and you _will_ question your decision. But when _he_ decides you're ready, you can go and do what your heart thirsts for.”

Jared didn't waste another moment on second thoughts for it all lay clear in front of him. He was going to become an assassin, a cold blooded killer, and he was going to take revenge on the people that had took away his life within the blink of an eye. He didn't fear the deprivations of the training and wasn't afraid of the consequences—there was nothing in him but rage and the urge to fill the void inside his chest with something— _anything_ —that would make him feel whole again.

“I'm in,” he croaked and his voice tumbled over itself as he agreed. “I'll do it. I'm gonna become a _Brother_.”

The smile on Jeffrey's face became predatory and the woman next to him exhaled deeply, her eyes glimmering in the dark. “Well done, boy,” the man rumbled and stood again, his bulky form towering over Jared “You already know Jensen?”

Jared shook his head, unsure what to say when a third person—until now completely unseen—stepped out of the corner by the door. He had lingered in the shadows until his participation was requested—unmoving and unnoticed by Jared's senses—and his sudden presence sent a shiver down Jared's back.

“He was the one who brought you here, you probably don't remember,” the woman explained and her steady voice was full of sympathy. But Jared _did_ remember. Despite his body being paralyzed with shock and drained of every feeling, he remembered the strong fingers around his biceps and the warm, solid chest at his back. He remembered the firm press of a scruffy chin pressing against the crook of his neck as they rode in silence and a smooth voice cursing quietly under its breath.

“Never mind, boy.” Jeffrey shrugged, the weapons on his belt clattering with the sudden movement. “Jensen is going to train you. Listen carefully to what he has to say, follow his lead and soon enough you'll be ready to face your enemy,” he said and Jared nodded in return, a stern look on his face.

“Rest now. Tomorrow will be here soon and you have to be ready. We'll see each other again.” And with that and a last grim smile Jeffrey walked out of the room, leaving nothing but a rush of cold night air and the promise of a better future in his wake.

 ♦ 

Morning came too early and it greeted Jared with a harsh voice commanding him to “clean up and get dressed. We set out in ten minutes.”

Stifling a yawn, Jared straightened up, carefully stretching his sore muscles. The long hours in the uncomfortable bed had stiffened his muscles and he still felt feeble and exhausted from the past events. But last night he had agreed to become an assassin of the Brotherhood and with another quiet yawn and a deep groan he got up to peel himself out of the blood-crusted clothing. His throat became tight again at the sight of the rust-brown stains caking the fabric—tighter even than from the press of the bandage—but he swallowed the lump and went to clean himself with the cold water waiting for him in a bowl on the table.

His new robes were light and in the same creamy white as Jeffrey's had been. Jared wore them over a smooth tunic and soft pants and it felt like a leaden weight dropping from his shoulders as soon as he let the warm fabric move across his skin. A pair of simple brown leather boots—knee-high and a perfect fit even around Jared's extraordinarily long, gangly legs—completed the outfit and Jared wasted no time to leave his old clothes behind—heedlessly discarded on the floor; a messy heap of blood and tears, they were nothing more than the memories of another life.

“You're just in time,” the man _—Jensen_ —greeted as he swung himself on top of a dapple gray horse. He wore the same tunic as Jared and his wide hood was pulled low over his face, only his chin poking out from under the shadows. He was tall, even taller on top of the nervously prancing animal, and his broad shoulders looked like they could carry four people Jared's size.

“Where are we going?” Jared asked as he approached a second horse, a chestnut brown stallion with a white blaze and big, dark eyes.

Jensen waited until Jared was seated in the saddle, his upsurge everything but graceful. “Monteriggioni,” he then explained and Jared caught a brief glimpse of the man's muscles bunching beneath the robe before Jensen spurred his horse into a sharp trot, leaving Jared no choice but to trail behind.

 ♦ 

The trip wasn't as long, but for Jared it felt like forever. He had never been good at riding—just never felt it, really—and the one and a half hour long ride turned into an eternity. Cramps jolted through his legs and he could already feel the delicate skin of his thighs becoming sore.

But Jensen's stoic silence left no room for complaints and together they set up a swift pace. Enthroned on his bulky stallion, Jensen looked like Mars himself, put on earth to bring death and misery to mankind, and Jared found himself intrigued by the thought. Jensen never lost his straight composure, never glanced sideways to watch the peaceful landscape fly past and never looked back to check on Jared. His whole presence radiated a quiet, dignified indifference, with danger boiling just underneath the surface.

They rode in resolute silence and under a bright sun until the outlines of a giant fortress appeared on the horizon.

“ _That's_ Monteriggioni?” Jared asked, mouth falling open and his eyes going wide with surprise. He had heard of the fortress-city, but never seen it before. Jensen only nodded in reply and increased his horse's speed with light pressure against the animal's flanks.

“Wow, that's really... big,” Jared managed to squeeze out before his horse leaped forward, following the gray stallion's lead and leaving Jared to bury his fingers in the worn leather of the saddle.

They covered the remaining distance in silence again and Jensen only spoke when they passed the city gates. The people didn't seem to mind the presence of assassins, all but welcoming them with open faces and shy smiles. A few man with lifted hoods and white robes waved towards Jensen, grinning from one ear to another when receiving a short nod in response, and _everyone_ without exception made way for the two passing men and their heavily breathing horses.

“That's your new home,” Jensen explained after they came to a halt in front of a narrow building with few windows and a little fountain in the front. “You can sleep here, eat here. A Brother will see to your wounds if necessary and you can move around in the city freely.”

“M-My wounds?” Jared stammered and glanced around.

Jensen nodded. “Did you think you'd be the first one to make it through the training without so much as a bruise?”

Jared shrugged. “No.” And then the words bubbled up in his throat and he couldn't detain them from slipping past his lips. “Where will you sleep?”

“In the villa, like all assassins,” Jensen replied after a brief moment of considering, and with a sharp tug he pulled his hood down, exposing his face for the first time. Light brown hair—disheveled from being trapped under worn fabric for hours—greeted Jared and he felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. Slightly tanned skin, dusted with just the right amount of freckles, and green eyes under a fan of golden lashes glaring daggers at Jared, were the next things he noticed and when Jensen spoke again the boy couldn't help but watch his lips move, stretching with every barked word that tumbled out of the man's beautiful mouth.

“And now go and take a look at your new home, recruit. I expect you to meet me up there—” he pointed his finger towards the slightly higher ground just below the villa—“in exactly ten minutes. Don't be late.” And with a click of his tongue he turned his horse around, pulling Jared's chestnut stallion along.

Jared blinked slowly, his mouth going dry and his throat working painfully. Goddamn, what had he gotten himself into?

 ♦ 

Jared's new abode was small but cozy. Like the hut he'd woken up in earlier this morning, it was scarcely furnished, but the bed seemed comfortable and the table was big enough to carry a good amount of books and a bottle of heavy wine on top. The walls were plain and freshly painted and a brisk fire danced in the hearth. It radiated warmth and light and comfort and Jared decided to like his new place. It was nothing like his old room with its heavy velvet curtains and thick carpets, but then again he was nothing like the old Jared and it seemed rather fitting to exchange luxury and opulence with the chance to take revenge.

Jared had no time to dwell on the hot feelings that boiled up in his veins as soon as he thought about his family. It was probably for the best and Jared shoved the memories away as he made his way through the city streets, climbing the stairs to reach the training grounds to meet his new fate.

“Welcome, recruit,” Jensen greeted as Jared stepped into the circle that marked the practice field. “You're a Brother now and thus you have to learn to fight as one. Do you know how to wield a sword?”

Jared nodded vaguely. He hadn't exactly mastered the art of fighting—lacking discipline and interest if he was honest with himself—but he was pretty good with the dagger. He'd trained in archery as a boy and had always found his skills sufficient.

“Then grab your sword—” with a swift motion Jensen hurled a blade toward Jared, hilt first, and the boy caught it in mid-air—“and show me what you've learned.”

 

And just like that, Jared's training began.

The basics came first: sword fighting, archery, dagger mastery. The hours under the hot Tuscany sun were long and Jared's skin burned under the robes. He blocked and attacked, countered and dodged until his every muscle screamed in agony and then some. He learned how to use the enemy's energy to inflict massive amounts of damage, watched as Jensen showed him skillful sidesteps over and over again and imprinted sequence after sequence in his brain.

He studied the art of killing someone without drawing a single noise by stabbing him in the back with a short dagger, memorized the ways Jensen's fingers clasped around his throat to show him how to properly strangle someone and learned how to shoot a target in the eye from a hundred feet away. He let his bow sing and his sword whir in the cool air of every new morning. He danced to the beat that Jensen's feet stomped into the dust of the practice field when they circled each other like two planets orbiting the same sun, and slowly but deliberately he shed the old skin that became tighter and tighter every day.

The time Jared didn't spend outside, feet firmly rooted into the earth, he listened to Jensen's voice echoing from the library's walls, lecturing him about the credo and his deeds as a Brother. He told him about Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and his fight against the Templar, about the very first assassins and their course to fight for a free world. Endless hours were filled with deciphering old Kodex pages, plowing through the library in search of just the right book and discussing strategies and possible new inventions. Jensen made him read books as thick as Jared's thigh and twice as heavy, he instructed him to study maps of streets and the underground's secret webs of tunnels and encouraged the boy in his sheer insatiable thirst for more knowledge.

Sometimes Jensen would vanish for a couple of days without saying a word. No note explained his absence and other assassins—each grumpier than the last—would take his place. Jensen never talked about his sudden disappearances and Jared never asked. He knew that Jensen was one of the most skilled assassins in all of Italy. His name was a legend under the recruits and even the fully trained Brothers spoke of him with utmost respect and in a hushed voice. He was known for never leaving any traces and never forgetting a face, his mind as sharp as his blades and twice as quick. Those days Jared missed his teacher dearly, his smooth voice especially and the dignified peace he spread in the boy's body whenever he was close. But he never said a word and kept his thoughts to himself, saving his longing for when Jensen returned to him.

And though Jared had never suspected it, life went on. Most of his nights were filled with brooding over ancient scrolls, his days with the never ending clang of steel against steel. Spring turned into summer and soon the days were hot and the sun's heat unbearable. Jensen adjusted the schedule by shifting their practical training into the tepid evening hours and Jared came to enjoy his first lessons in stealth. It was by far the most exciting part at this point, and Jensen's presence close to Jared as they made their way across Monteriggioni's rooftops only added to the anticipation flaring through the his body. Jensen was like a wall of heat—tall and solid—always at Jared's back, guiding him with his smooth voice and fueling his ambitions. His grip was firm when his fingers circled Jared's hips to launch him over a particularly wide gap between two roofs and something inside Jared's chest unclenched when they bolted through the air together.

As for the wounds, Jensen hadn't lied. Almost every evening Jared counted a new bruise somewhere on his body, and shallow cuts and lacerations happened ever so often. His body was constantly sore from working out and jogging through the dust for hours. His muscles heavy and tired to the bones, he collapsed into his comfortable mattress every night and didn't rise before sun dawn. He had more concussions that he could count, his finger broke two times in attempts to reclaim his sword from Jensen's hands, and bruises in almost every possible color bloomed all over his skin. But he didn't complain—not once—just quietly endured the skilled Brother's treatment as he saw to his injuries and then forgot about them. But he never forgot the pain that had torn his heart apart the day he saw his family die by the hands of another man. He never neglected the searing ache, never put it aside or let it still inside his chest for it was the only thing that was left of his family.

By the end of summer Jared knew how to perfom an assassination without being seen. He knew how to vanish into the shadows, could fly over the rooftops like a hawk and without ever missing a step. His fingers had grown strong, his body turned from that of a scrawny kid into a young man's with smooth muscles beneath warm, golden skin. He could assassinate a targeted subject from more than ten feet above, could move as quiet as a cat and rarely missed an opportunity to get rid of minor threats. He was quick with the dagger and even quicker with his tongue and every arrow whirring from his bow found its target. His hair wasn't shaggy and floppy anymore, but smooth and soft as it cascaded down his neck. He wore it in a ponytail and the dull brown had turned into a shiny chestnut under the hot Tuscany sun. He had grown fierce, had gained weight and height, and one September evening he was finally prepared for his first mission outside the safe walls of Monteriggioni.

“You ready?” Jensen asked as soon as they mounted the horses, Jared no longer bound to ride Jensen's spare beast but proud owner of his own, black animal. He'd come to like riding—had turned into an enthusiastic horseman even—his skills advanced and well ahead of those of the other recruits.

“Ready,” he confirmed as he touched the weapons dangling from his belt: a small dagger with a razor-sharp blade, a short-sword next to it. The leather straps around his chest and back were spiked with throwing knives and another two daggers waited in his leather boots, ready to spring to action any moment.

“It's a short ride to San Gimignano. Stay close,” Jensen ordered and after Jared's confirming nod they left the assassin's fortress behind, heading North towards the small city.

 ♦ 

The mission went smoothly and without any interruptions. Jensen guided Jared in eliminating the secondary targets and kept a close eye on him during the following observation. He gave Jared a reassuring nod before he went for the main target—Paolo Zarbo, a misled priest with a liking for little boys—and a proud smile tugged on the corners of his lips as Jared's blade pierced the man's chest.

Relief and the sweet feeling of victory howled through Jared as soon as it was done and he inhaled deeply. With warm, sticky blood pulsing over his fingers and his ears catching the last beat of Zarbo's heart, he dropped the heavy body into the gutter before he let himself be swept away by overwhelming emotions, knowing that his first kill was only another milestone on his way to revenge.

“Requiescat in pace,” he mumbled before he straightened up again, securing his dagger carefully. Satisfaction, adrenaline and laughter bubbled in his chest and he had to bite his lip to keep himself form breaking into booming laughter out until they'd mounted the horses and were halfway on their way home again.

“Did you see his face?” Jared howled and made his horse's ears twitch with the sharp sound. “He didn't see me coming, did he?”

Jensen nodded. “It was well done, Jared. You're a quick learner and one day you'll become a great assassin.”

“How much longer until I can return to Florence?”

The corner of Jensen's mouth twitched with amusement as they followed the cluttered path through the endless fields of grass. The moon was round and pale tonight and it made the scar across Jensen's lips appear silver and beautiful—the perfect crown for a king of death. “You've killed but one peasant, kid. Don't overreach yourself; there's still much to learn.”

Jared pouted. “But what about learning by doing?” he asked against the cool night air as he tried to steer his horse next to the master assassin's enormous beast.

“In our world, learning by doing means losing at least a limb. Being an assassin means being responsible and acting as a reasonable member of the Brotherhood. Every missed opportunity, every target you leave alive and every second of your inattention could mean your Brother's certain death. Think about it next time you open your cheeky mouth,” Jensen replied and the smile on his face was replaced by a thoughtful expression, a steep crease between his brows erasing the crinkles around his eyes. Jared's stomach dropped.

“Apologies, I didn't mean to offend,” he mumbled and they covered the remaining distance in uncomfortable silence before bidding each other good night at the city gates. There was nothing left of Jared's euphoric mood as he entered his small abode and he didn't even bother to rid his skin of the priest's blood before he crashed face first into the cushions, eyes falling shut and muscles going lax the very second he hit the mattress.

 ♦ 

The next morning greeted Jared with an overcast sky and rain-laden clouds riding a stiff breeze. He welcomed the change, but couldn't help a shiver as he stepped into the training circle.

“Today we're gonna do an extra lesson with the daggers,” Jensen announced and he seemed even more displeased than the night before. His jaw was clenched tight and Jared could see his throat working from where he stood at the other end of the practice field.

“Va bene,” Jared replied carefully, bowing his head in front of his teacher as it was custom before he stepped forward. Dagger mastery meant close encounter. It meant being in total control of a situation and remain in check until the target's last breath was drawn. It was the most highly regarded art of killing for an assassin and required a skillful performance and a sufficient set of various capabilities.

“But first—" Jensen said before Jared could invade his personal space for the purpose of dagger training—"let's do a race to warm ourselves up.”

And that they did. Chasing each other over the slippery shingles of Monteriggioni's rooftops, they stirred up their blood and set their stiff muscles burning. The cold air stung inside their lungs and soon they raced towards their goal, Jensen mere inches ahead.

“You're getting faster everyday,” he panted after they'd found their breath again, now strutting towards the practice field in a leisurely pace.

“I'm trained by the best,” Jared replied eagerly, relived that Jensen's gloomy moody seemed to have lifted. “And I'm sorry for last night. I wasn't thinking straight.”

Jensen glanced briefly at his recruit, emerald eyes drinking the boy's face in before he nodded slowly. “Don't mention it again, Jared.” They arrived at the practice field. “C'mon now, let's do some serious business.”

Today's training was hard—harder than Jared had it ever expected to be. At some point the clouds had broken to release a sheer flash flood of water onto the exercising men, soaking their robes and making them heavy around their shoulders. But they kept on practicing new movements as well as already known ones, every muscle in their bodies pent up with tension and their bones aching for a break. Sweat was sluicing down their temples, blending in with the pouring rain on its way down. Their cheeks were flushed with exertion and after four hours in the weather, Jared couldn't seem to stand upright anymore. His limbs shook violently with each flick of his wrist or side-step to dodge and he was afraid that he might lose hold of the blade between his fingers any moment.

“One last time,” Jensen yelled over the humming downpour and took his position, his body still moving with the grace and elegance of an absolutely deadly predator. His wet hair stuck to his forehead and the look of his striking green eyes was piercing, calculating and challenging.

“I can't,” Jared heard himself reply and the muscles in his back cramped painfully, his guts twisting and his knees buckling under the weight of his own body. His blood felt like lava—hot and thick and unwilling to flow inside his veins—and the cold had numbed his ears, fingers and toes.

Jensen clenched his jaw. “Yeah, you can,” he mouthed and the look on his face changed from challenging to downright provocative. But Jared only shook his head in response, for once defeated by his own body, and was about to bow and leave the practice ring as he felt strong finger curling around his biceps.

“We'll do it together then,” a low voice rumbled against his ear, a puff of hot breath clouding against the boy's skin and sending a jolt through his aching body.

Whimpering light, Jared bowed his head in allegiance. "Yes master," he muttered breathily as he got into position again, arms raised and feet firmly planted into the mud. His body went rigid the moment he felt a pair of warm hands travel down his flanks.

“Good composure,” Jensen muttered against his recruit's ear, lips so close they were almost touching the sensitive skin. “You need to keep your balance point low to prevent yourself from getting knocked over, okay?”

Jared nodded and bit back a moan as he felt Jensen's hands trail further down, across the bony cut of his hips and around to the smooth flats of his stomach. “Right here,” Jensen purred and slowly spread his whole palm across Jared's stomach, keeping him firmly in place with nothing but his right hand. “Now move,”

It turned out to be the most amazing set they'd done all day. With Jared moving under the guidance of the master assassin's skillful hands and Jensen mirroring his recruit's every move, they fell into perfect synch after only a few heartbeats.

“Left,” Jensen instructed and Jared followed without hesitation. His body was wax in the assassin's hands, ready to melt into Jensen's heat. Jared bent and stretched under Jensen's will, ran riot against his own screaming muscles, and leaped forward in smooth motions just to feel Jensen coming after him.

Jensen's voice was low and quiet when spoke the final commands. “Up now, then right,” he directed and for a brief moment his wet lips brushed Jared's ear, freeing a moan from Jared's throat and making him jump into action. His nerves vibrated under Jensen's touch as they finished the last movement, their bodies combined in the perfect performance of death and whirring steel. Then Jared's knees buckled and with a thud he crashed into the mud.

“Bene,” Jensen panted, his robe clinging to his chest and tracing the outlines of his neatly cut body, every inch an invitation Jared yearned for. “Benissimo, Jared.”

Nodding, Jared tried to catch his breath. He was done, every inch of his body defeated and weary and though he still felt Jensen's touch like a lightning bolt flaring though his veins he couldn't be bothered to move anymore.

“I'm gonna send Maria to help you up and tend to your wounds,” Jensen continued and Jared felt his brow furrow in disbelief. The master assassin had praised his skill only seconds ago and yet he seemed angry and displeased with their current situation. Jensen's jaw was clenched in the familiar way and the fingers at his sides balled into hard fists.

“We'll continue tomorrow at dusk, don't be late.” And with a last frustrated glance towards Jared he stomped away, leaving Jared to his own devices and his defeated body to rest in the cold mud.

 ♦ 

There wasn't much variety in Jared's life. Every morning he got up for a meager meal followed by hard training and long hours of study in the library. His hair grew longer, his skill-set larger, and by the time the fall's mighty thunderstorms concussed the Tuscany he thought that he must've read every book on god's green earth and learned every single way to strangle, gut, shoot, cut, stab or hang a target.

His frustration grew—unnoticed by Jensen and the other recruits Jared occasionally shared food and drink with—and only in the darkness of the midnight hours, when the stormed howled through the streets of the assassin's fortress-city, did he let his mind be consumed by the plans to steal away and kill them all.

 ♦ 

Jensen disappeared again at the end of October and his absence was noticed bitterly by Jared.

His new teacher was a fierce woman with hair as red as a lambent flame and eyes as gray as the storm. She set up a brutal pace during their training and at the end of the day Jared often wondered how he was still alive. Six days had passed since he'd seen the last glimpse of Jensen—almost an entire week. It was the longest the assassin had ever been away from the city and when Jared crashed into the sheets that night—rain thrumming against the narrow window and lighting flashing on the horizon—he saw panic lurking in the shadows. What would he do if Jensen wasn't successful on his mission? What would happen if Jensen had to face a superior number of enemies, swords drawn and the lust to kill burning in their eyes? What if Jensen didn't return to him... _ever_?

“No,” he whispered and pressed his face into the cushions. It took Jared until long after midnight until he finally fell into a fitful slumber, his dreams fueled by sorrow and overshadowed by the overwhelming fear of being alone again.

 ♦ 

The next day greeted them with hail as big as his balled fists, turning streets and practice field alike into a slippery death trap. With Monteriggioni being haunted by the weather and his new teacher occupied finding new ways to torture him, Jared spent the day in the library, hidden in the silence of the books and buried in his own thoughts. He was about to reread his favorite strategic guide, when he noticed a small bird outside the window, its wings flapping helplessly against the storm and its pointy beak knocking against the glass at a frantic pace.

“Huh?” Jared murmured and was on his feet and at the window before he could waste a second thought. He cracked it open, just a tiny wee bit, to let the exhausting bird slip in.

“Hey little guy,” Jared greeted and made a cooing noise, luring the tiny pigeon with the disheveled feathers into his palm. It carried a message, a skillfully folded note clasped around the bird's leg, and Jared took it. The paper was thoroughly soaked, of a dark brown color, and he weighed it in his palm as he watched the pigeon huddle into itself in an attempt to get warm.

The note carried the emblem of the Brotherhood and though Jared wasn't a fully trained Assassin yet, he sure was a responsible Brother, right? This message could easily be meant for him, too. And in case someone was in danger—' _Probably Jensen._ ' whispered the little voice inside the Jared's head—it was his duty to carry the message to the next highest Brother or Sister.

Jared took a deep inhale and opened the note. It was written with a hasty hand, the crimson ink blurred from the rain but still clearly readable.

_Giovanni Sivori & son back in Florence. Assassination permitted. Assistance required._

It was signed with a little _E._

The Sivori were back. Back in Florence. Their elimination was approved, their death decided. They'd die by the hand of the Brotherhood—and in that moment it was more clear than ever that it had to be Jared's hands that guided the blade. He was promised his revenge, it was the offer Jeffrey had made him, and yet Jeffrey wasn't here. And neither was Jensen. There was no one here to confirm Jared's attendance for that mission, only the red-haired devil and a few assassins that had come out of an age long ago. There was no one left in the city willing to send him to Florence to see the debt paid and with the clarity of a winter's morning Jared knew what to do.

He left the villa without informing anyone, bird and message safely tucked inside his pocket. The hail prickled on his skin, cooling his burning forehead but not so much his raging temper. “Their heads are mine to take,” he whispered to himself as he stepped inside his abode, freeing the pigeon and gathering a few of his belongings before he hurried for the stables. With a few coins rattling inside his purse, his daggers and a handful of throwing knifes safely hidden beneath his heavy cloak and a note left for Jensen on the small table of his hut, Jared exited the city on the back of his master's dapple gray stallion, hood pulled low over his face and his thoughts stained with red.

 ♦ 

Returning to Florence's embrace was like welcoming the touch of a long absent mother and Jared's hair stood on end as he passed the city's gates. Shuddering he tasted the air's rich scents and familiar flavors, bathed in the soft light of the guards' flickering torches and reveled in the pleasant warmth emanating from the city walls. Despite the rain and the late hour, people were bustling through the streets, their cloaks drenched and their voices loud and cheerful when they recognized each other through the thick downpour. The city's mood seemed to be frisky and the inns spilled over with men and women, avidly ordering one drink after another.

But Jared had murder on his mind and soon he left the busy streets behind as he entered the shadows of the less crowded suburbs. He still knew every path by heart and led the exhausted stallion through the labyrinth of roads and avenues, alleys and lanes until he reached the stables in the East of the city. Jared paid good coin to see Jensen's horse well-treated, watered and fed and never once during the negotiation with the stall's owner bothered to reveal his face. He left a false name and the stallion behind as soon as the proceedings were done and waited until the stable boy's lantern had vanished behind the rain's thick curtain before he pulled himself up onto the next building, hands never failing to grip the next best jut as he made his way above, away from the people and into the silence of Florence's rooftops.

With a little help of the thieves Jared found his way quickly across the city's slippery shingles, a shady looking man pointing him in the general direction of the posh quarters of Florence when he asked for guidance. The moon was covered in thick clouds but Jared didn't need its light, his body moving on its on as he walked the familiar paths, leaving abysses, tripping hazards and prominent shingles behind before he finally approached the Sivori's new, grander and more imposing housing. The walls were thick and the gilded rooftops peppered with guards—but Jared didn't worry. His confidence didn't falter at the sight of four armed archers pointing their bows at him and he executed them quickly. A dagger to the heart, two throwing knives into the soft hollow just below the throat to slice through their vocal chords, and a clean cut across the pulse point on the last man's neck and Jared could continue his path without any further interruption.

Heart racing in his chest and forehead covered in sticky sweat he made his way down, using the many garnishments and golden decorations along the facade to give his feet a safe step and after what felt like only a few seconds he quietly landed on the small porch roof fanning over the narrow courtyard. Two lightly armored guards fell to his razor-sharp blades, precisely led by the boy's skilled hands. Something close to serenity settled into Jared's bones as he snapped the neck of one of Salvatore Sivori's cousins with the force of his own, burning muscles. His fingers barely registered the vigor they were working with, nor did they notice the boy's strenuous opposition or the cry of triumph that left Jared's mouth as soon as it was done and the man's body dropped to the cobblestone, heavy and unmoving and robbed of its spirit entirely. Light filtered through the air as the front door sprang open and more guards appeared, six of them wearing thick golden armor and carrying heavy axes. Their movements were slow and the tiny slits in their helmets didn't grant them much sight—but with their hearts and throats guarded like that and their most vulnerable spots buried under hunks of gilded iron, they didn't need to see much anyway.

Jared's heart jumped into his throat as he faced the massive weapons they yielded and for the first time since he'd left Monteriggioni the heavy footfalls of approaching danger unnerved him.

“It looks like we have a guest,” An oily voice echoed through the courtyard and there he was, Salvatore Sivori himself, Giovanni's last remaining son and Jared's archenemy since their days as children. He hadn't changed much, though he had become wider over the last several months. His face was fat and flushed red with anger and a cruel sneer curled his thin lips. He no longer looked like a snake, but a plump pig, ready to be slaughtered. “Who is it? Who pays me the honor in the middle of the night I wonder?”

Jared didn't reply, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth and his back touching the cool wall as he retreated enough to see his flanks covered. There were nine guards between him and Salvatore's certain death, six of them heavily armed, two average looking men and one archer. Jared had only three throwing knives left but his fingers itched to guide his sharp daggers. He was ready for the fight, ready to tear throats open and taste the blood on his tongue. He wouldn't give up, not now with his target so close, would rather take those guards head-on with nothing but his blunt fingernails and teeth instead of backing off, and with a graceful sidestep and a quick draw of his blade he cut the archer's chest open, warm blood splashing against the white cobblestone and painting it red.

“Get him,” Salvatore screamed over the sudden clang of steel against steel and the second guard fell with a gurgling noise, his throat touching the ground in a bloody lump before the man could so much as blink. A throwing knife ended the life of the third and last lightly armored protector and another found its target through the narrow slit in one of the heavily armed guards' helmet, blinding him, drawing piercings screams out of his mouth and leaving Jared enough time to cut him down before he had to sidestep a massive onslaught given by the remaining men.

Steel raked against stone in a harsh sound as five enormous axes, led by chunky guards, were buried in the ground.

“ _Idiota!_ I said get him, don't kill him!” Salvatore blustered and he balled his fat hands to tiny, soft fists, his face twisting in anguish and ire. He wasn't calm anymore, his eyes going wide with every falling guard, and slowly he seemed to realize the immediate danger he found himself in. “I want him alive, I wanna skin him myself! _Eccolo!_ ”

Jared took a moment to regain his composure, willing his heaving chest to draw deep, even exhales, before he lunged out again, aiming his dagger at one of the guard's pulse points. He missed and the scraping sound of steel against steel was like a death sentence for Jared, his heart racing and stuttering in his chest as he felt the enemy's iron grip lock around his waist.

“No,” Jared yelled and anguish swept through his body as he tried to pull free. This couldn't be the end. He wasn't dead yet, adrenaline still pumping through his veins, fueling his rage and sharpening his senses. He launched a second attack and this time he was successful, his dagger parting skin, muscle and flesh as he buried it to the hilt in the guard's thick neck, buying himself a moment to gather his thoughts again.

 _'Five guards down, four remaining. Focus Jared, you've trained hard during the last months, you know how to handle such situations.'_ Jared checked his cover and the position of his hood before he attempted another move. His ears rang with Salvatore's constant screaming and the maledictions he sent his way. Jared's grip was still strong, but there was an ache pounding inside his strained muscles that slowed his movements down, making him vulnerable and exposing his life to a bunch of grunting brutes in gilded armor.

“You'll pay for what you've done,” Salvatore exclaimed through the pouring rain and his face had turned from red to crimson, his hands now clutching a jeweled dagger of his own. “You can't win this, _stronzo._ ”

Jared was tempted to object, but a searing pain exploding in his right shoulder kept him from spilling the words, his mouth releasing a pained whimper instead. More archers had appeared on the roof and another two or three arrows hailed down on the cobblestone, some of them only missing Jared by mere inches.

“No,” Jared hissed and fought down the urge to clutch the tattered skin. “Not now!”

A quick assessment of his wound assured him that it had been nothing more than a simple grazing shot, but the amount of blood pooling from beneath the lacerated skin made him change his dagger into left hand—his _weak_ one. Jensen had always said there were no _weak hands_ for both his fingers had to be equally skillful and it was in that moment that Jared finally, at the end of all things, became acutely aware of how right his teacher had been.

“Now, get him. Get him!” Salvatore continued to bawl, steam rising from his forehead and his grabby fingers moving continuously as finally his bulky guards did as he demanded, all four of them crowding into Jared's space at the same time and forcing him to retreat further against the cool wall in his back.

“Don't you come any closer, or I'll gut you,” Jared yelled, his voice firm though he didn't stand a single chance. With another wave of arrows hailing down on him, one close enough to draw a thin, red line across his cheek, and the heavily guarded thugs pushing their axes into his face, his defense eventually collapsed. He did manage to wound another guard by shoving his dagger through the slit in the golden helmet and twisting it thoroughly until the man gagged and winced in pain, but it wasn't enough. A hit against his temple sent him reeling, his brain rattling inside his skull, and another blow against his chest knocked all wind out of his body. Stumbling he fumbled for the smaller blades hidden in the seam of his boots, but it was of no use as another fist collided with his back, then another with his ribs.

Jared grunted in pain, but didn't back off. His fingers frantically scraping against the cobblestone as he went down to his knees, his mind fiercely clinging to the thought of revenge, he never stopped straining and struggling against the vice-like grip around his limbs, every movement fueled by wrath and anguish and despair.

“Take his arms,” Salvatore's voice was suddenly so very close and the tips of his expensive looking shoes approached in the corner of Jared's clouded sight. “I wanna see his face when I cut his throat.”

Two of the brutes followed Sivori's command like the stupid, obedient dogs they were trained to be, and Jared's arms were roughly pulled behind his back until he heard the joints in his shoulders pop. Another wave of pain gushed over him, but it was nothing compared to the look of utter satisfaction on Salvatore's face as soon he rid Jared of his soaked hood.

“Padalecki,” the fat man breathed and triumph flushed all across his chubby features, an ugly laugh filtering through the night's cool air. “I thought we'd finished you with the rest of your pathetic little family. But here you are, ready for my blade to peel the face off your skull.”

“Fuck off, Salvatore,” Jared managed to choke out before a heavily armored fist thundered against his cheek, making his head jerk around and tearing the soft skin open with the sharp metal edges.

“No need to be so rude, little Jared, you're with friends here.” Salvatore gestured around. “We value our time with each other and tell funny little secrets. Let me start, alright?” He took his time to walk in front of his Jared in a leisurely pace, his eyes never leaving Jared's mistreated face. “Well, how about we start with a nice little anecdote about your sister, huh? Ah yes, sweet little Megan, remember her?”

Nausea washed over Jared and cursing he gave another jerk against his restrains, his body bucking under the iron grip and his knees pounding against the stony ground. “No!” he panted and bared his teeth, snarling and hissing as he attempted to break free. “You're not taking her name into your filthy mouth, you're not—”

Another wave of Salvatore's hand and a second fist rammed into Jared's face, almost splitting his head in two, and for a second Jared's body went lax. Red fog swirled in front of his closed lids as his eyes fluttered shut and through the haze he saw his father's guts smearing the forge's floor and Jeff's wide eyes as the great broadsword of Antonio Sivori beheaded him. Dull pain ached inside of Jared's body, waves of anguish and despair crashing against his screaming muscles and for a split second he remembered Jensen's hands on his stomach, the warm palm spread against his skin and the tingling sensation of the man's plush lips grazing the sensitive shell of his ear. Everything was the same as on that faithful day on the practice field: the rain, the ache, the exhaustion—only the screams were different.

Wait _—screams?_ Jared didn't remember his throat working and a quick look at Salvatore ruled him out as the source of the sudden turmoil. But who else's cries could pierce the veil through Jared's numbed mind? He got his answer when an archer crashed to ground right next to Salvatore's pudgy body, the guard a bloody pile of smashed limbs and his blood mixing with his companions'. Another mutilated body followed quickly, and a third buried one of the heavy armored thugs underneath the weight of its dead body. The sound of bones snapping and skulls crushing was everywhere and Jared could taste death and decay on his lips. He didn't jerk away when a fountain of fresh, warm blood showered him from above—but Salvatore did. The look on his face panic-stricken, his thick fingers clutching the dagger, he tried to retreat into the mansion in the cover of the three remaining brutes, but is was already too late.

A flash of white flared through the air and seconds later two of the guards went down like chopped trees, the echoes of their screams ebbing away in the metal cases of their helmets. Jensen was merciless in his wrath, his hidden blade tearing flesh from bone and after a few heartbeats it was over. Eerie silence fell and Jared could see the assassin approaching his primary target from behind.

“Salvatore Sivori?” Jensen drawled, his voice low and smooth and without the slightest hitch of breath to it.

“Ye-yes,” the fat little man squeaked, the jeweled dagger clattering to the ground.

“You're accused of plotting against Gerald Padalecki and participating in the extinction of his family. You were also spotted by multiple witnesses at the crime scene. Do you deny that?”

Salvatore's pants sported now a damp patch and the sharp stench of piss filled Jared's nostrils. “N-No, I d-don't, but please have mer—”

“So you confess your crimes?” Jensen cut in and the sound of hidden blade springing free was like music to Jared's ears. Salvatore nodded and a gurgling noise escaped his mouth the moment Jared saw a flash of silver sliding through his flesh, parting skin, vein and muscle and robbing the chubby man of his very last breath.

“Requiescat in pace,” Jensen mumbled, dropping the dead weight to the ground without paying much heed to the ungodly sound it made, and then he was all over Jared. Like a thunderstorm he pushed into Jared's space, yanking him up and pulling him close. All calmness was gone and his emerald eyes sputtered with uncovered rage.

“What do you think you're doing, recruit?” he barked and his hot breath burned like acid on Jared's sore skin. Jensen's right hand was balled up in the hem of Jared's robe and after a few heartbeats of silence he pulled Jared's exhausted body impossibly closer. “Answer me!”

It was an order.

“I wanted to take revenge as was promised,” Jared replied dutifully, his voice wavering and with the heat of the master assassin oozing through his muscles and the thrill of the fight vanished from his veins, Jared felt his strength rapidly dwindling away.

Voices floated in from the street and within the blink of an eye Jensen was on top of the narrow porch roof. “Come,” he snarled and let his fingers circle Jared's biceps, hauling him up and over the edge. “Stay close, don't talk. We're leaving.” And with that he fell into a swift jog, his finger never leaving their place around Jared's arm, dragging him along until Jared felt like he might collapse at any second.

 ♦ 

Their race seemed to go on forever. Dashing across the shingles, slithering down rooftops, evading obstacles and leaping over the sharp edges of Florence's buildings seemed to became an unattainable goal for Jared and his body grew heavier with every step while his lungs seemed to shrink under his uneven breaths. He didn't listen to the bells in the night—alerting the city guard and spreading the word of a massacre in the Sivori mansion like wildfire—nor did he pay any attention to the beautiful woman who opened the door after Jensen had knocked three times. His mind was hazed with the metallic scent of blood and the events of the night had left him jittery and on edge, ready to sink into darkness any moment.

“Jensen, thank god you're safe,” the woman mumbled and pressed a kiss to both the assassin's cheeks before eyeing the boy thoroughly. “That your recruit?”

Jensen nodded in return. “His name is Jared and he needs a bath.”

“Benvenuto, Jared. I'm Paola and this is my establishment,” She gestured towards their surroundings. They were luxuriously furnished and the floor covered in a thick carpet. “Know that you'll always be safe here. There are no enemies of the Brotherhood under my roof. And now come, I'll show you to your room.”

Jared—momentarily distracted by the giggling laugh of a pretty little girl sitting in another woman's lap—didn't resist when Jensen pulled him along and let himself be dragged into a generous room at the top of a short flight of stairs. The windows were covered by heavy, red curtains spun of the finest velvet and again the floor felt soft and pliant under the each step. The bed in the center of the room could only be described as enormous and slowly Jared blinked his mind awake.

“Where are we?” he asked, confusion clearly visible on his blood-stained face.

Paola—all soft curves and shiny hair—replied with a laugh.“You are in a whorehouse, darling, and right now it's the safest place for your and your master to be.”

Jared gaped at her. “But I've never been—”

“In a brothel? Well dear, there's a first time for everything, right? Feel free to take a look around once you're cleaned up. Only the rooms with the closed doors are occupied,” Paola winked at him and shot Jensen a warning glance before she stepped outside. “But don't get light-headed, little Jay. Assassins have to pay for my girls as much as every other customer.” She winked again and then she was gone, only her sweet perfume lingering in the air between the two men.

Jensen crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Go on, rid yourself of that filth's blood,” he bit out, almost casually leaning against the wall. His gaze was still wild, the fires still smoldering behind the controlled mask, and he more than ever appeared like a predator ready to circle its prey.

Jared took an anxious look around. “I, um... are you gonna wait outside?” he asked quietly and eyed the heavy brass tub in the far corner of the room, filled with what hopefully was steaming hot water.

“No,”

“B-but I gotta get... you know,” Jared stammered, confused and still panting heavily from their run. 

Jensen snorted. “Yeah? Go on.”

“I have to get naked,” Jared whispered and suddenly felt his cheeks burn with the thought of Jensen's wild eyes raking over his exposed skin. Words and noises swirled around in his head, his mind spinning with the past's events, and he could still taste a sheen of guards' blood on his lips. He almost gagged.

Jensen shrugged and his gaze shifted, eyes going dark with hunger. “There's nothing I haven't seen before, Jared,” he lectured and the slightest twitch in his smooth muscles made Jared yearn for his touch, his skin longing to be consumed by the assassin's warmth.

“Oh, okay,” Jared caved and after another two or three seconds of silent staring he stumbled towards the tub. His weapons clattered slightly as they dropped to the ground, followed by the heavily soaked and thoroughly ruined robe. The once white fabric was splattered with stains of crimson and pinkish red, blood caking around the hem—mostly Jared's blood.

With his mind occupied processing the events, Jared was beyond hesitating as he stripped himself of his clothing. Piece after piece fell down, staining the expensive carpet and he shimmied out of his pants at last before dropping his aching body into the tub. Water clashed over his head and poured over the edge.

Meanwhile, Jensen stayed exactly where he was—leaning against the wall, feet firmly rooted to the ground—and nurtured his cold stare. His arms remained crossed and only the slight heaving of his chest signaled that he was, in fact, still of this world.

Jared however drowned himself thoroughly in the hot water, wave after wave washing blood, dirt and tear tracks away and bedding him in a soothing cocoon. The fierce heat burned the metallic smell of blood from his skin and soon Jared felt himself relaxing against the smooth brass. His hands unclenched, his jaw slackened and even his heart eventually returned to a normal rate. He took his time relishing the rare moment of peace, floating in the water, but at some point he couldn't possibly make it last any longer and with a sigh he grabbed a fluffy towel from the side table, burying his face in it to avoid Jensen's still-piercing gaze. Jared was hardly out of the tub—the long expanse of his naked body exposed to the assassin's fiery stare—as he started drying himself. He was painfully aware of the Jensen's almost aggressive presence and a blush that had nothing to do with the water's surging heat crept up Jared's cheeks.

“Are you done?” Jensen asked as soon as Jared had finished his task, now busying himself with slinging the damp towel around his hips at the lack of proper clothing.

He nodded. “Yeah, I—”

He didn't come any further because suddenly Jensen was in his space, crowding him against the wall, pushing his face into Jared's and barring every possible escape with his brawny body.

“Good, then we will talk,” he breathed and all Jared could see and feel was Jensen, his rough palms against the cut of Jared's hips with nails digging into the delicate skin, his freckles appearing golden in the fuzzy half-light and his long lashes fanning around those mesmerizing, green eyes. “Now tell me Jared, what the fuck where you thinking?”

Jared gulped. “I was taking what was promised to me,” he replied with a surprisingly firm voice. Trapped between the building's cool touch and the heated kiss of Jensen's body, he slowly felt his solidity return and with every passing second his defiance grew until he didn't feel as self-conscious and naked as before.

“Promised to you?” Jensen snorted, his hands continuing to claw at Jared's strim waist. “Like _you_ promised to be a good recruit and follow your Brothers' lead, protecting them with your life?”

Jared shrugged. “Look, I was in Monteriggioni and you were gone, as was Jeffrey. I got the message—”

“You mean you got hold of a note that wasn't yours to read?”

Jared felt a blush creeping up his cheeks at the notion, but he was determined not to surrender to the accusations. “I saved that pigeon from its assured death by letting it inside the library. None of us would have gotten the note if it hadn't been for me. It would've been lost in the storm, carried away by the wind, and Salvatore Sivori would still be alive.” Jared spat the last words, agitated, and his whole body shook under the force of his overwhelming emotions.

“As he would if it hadn't been for _me_ , recruit,” Jensen barked and shifted his position until his left forearm pressed against Jared's chest, keeping him down, while his right hand loosened the knot that held the towel in place.

“What are you d-doing?” Jared stammered, but Jensen shushed him with a sharp grunt.

“You disobeyed my orders,” the assassin snarled as he tore the damp fabric from Jared's hips. “You left your place at the den and bared your Brothers and Sisters to danger.” His fingers were now clawing at Jared's thigh, blunt nails leaving angry red scratch marks on the creamy skin and Jared gasped, pink lips quivering in distress. Jensen could tell from the way his pupils dilated that Jared was aroused, his body betraying the reluctant look on his face and soon he was bucking into the rough touch. “You stole my horse—”

“As you stole mine before,” Jared interrupted, but his voice drowned in the words that followed.

“You returned to Florence and exposed yourself to certain danger by approaching our primary targets without the right knowledge—” Jensen's hand moved frantically now, bruising the delicate skin of Jared's thighs and drawing soft whimpers out of the boy's mouth—"the adequate skill—” his fingertips brushing the base of Jared's straining cock—"the right amount of respect and the proper weapons,”

Jared was panting by now, his face flushed pink and his mouth falling open to release a string of quiet little pleas. He didn't know when the situation had changed from acutely dangerous into menacingly arousing, but his cock jumped into action without any further inquiry. Rock-hard and the tip already wet with pre-come it bobbed against his stomach, begging for attention and aching to be touched by rough fingers.

Back arching against the wall, his mouth fell open to release a wash of barely illegible words. “I-I... wanted—”

“You wanted to gratify your foolish thirst for revenge by sacrificing _everything_ to see it done,” Jensen cut in and the wildfire in his eyes threatened to burn Jared away, eating him alive and devouring his every cell. Uncovered rage, frustration and lust seared in the myriad of impossible shades of green and Jared shuddered under the intensity. “You wanted to fulfill your own selfish needs—and if that's how we're gonna play, we should start with _that_ ,”

Suddenly Jensen's hand was around Jared's cock, gripping it tight and jerking him roughly. His touch was like the lick of a flame and Jared cried out, bucking into the searing hot sensation. Skin slick and cock incredibly hard, he thrust forward, needing friction, and his eyes fell shut.

“J-Jensen,” he moaned and leaned in, begging for a kiss, something to stuff his mouth and fill the void with, but Jensen jerked away, bringing his lips out of range with his forearm still pressing Jared against the wall.

“You violated my orders and disdained the rules we live by,” the assassin growled and twisted his wrist around Jared's cock, making him cry out in pleasure. “You forgot yourself and your place.” Another sharp twist and his thumb flicked to the leaking slit of Jared's length, pressing into theslick heat. “You made me come after you, rode roughshod over everything you've learned during the past months and you let the primary target escape.”

“I-I know,” Jared wheezed, hips jerking and mouth hanging open as he pounded into the sleek heat of Jensen's palm. He was already close, his pupils blown when he blinked those astonishing, foxy eyes open and his whole body quivering against Jensen.

“You put yourself into serious danger, Jared.”

Jared's mouth opened on a reply, but the only thing coming out with a whimpered “Mnnnghh—”

“You could've gotten yourself killed,” Jensen's voice was low now—every sharp edge molten—his frantic movements steadied, and his grip became less vice-like as he gently stroked Jared to climax. “I thought I might lose you tonight.”

Jared didn't know what finally made him tumble over the edge—Jensen's soft voice, his nimble fingers or the sheer heat he was emanating—but it didn't matter anyway for the result was the all same. Jared came hard and with a sharp cry falling from his lips, head tilted back and eyes fluttered shut. His throat worked as he whined quietly, calling for Jensen and finally spilling hot ropes of come into the assassin's palm.

He didn't stop trembling even as the blissful aftershocks of his orgasms ebbed away. One hand balled in Jensen's robes, the other clutching the solid wall in his back, Jared didn't even try to stay upright on his own as his body slumped against Jensen instead.

“'M sorry,” he mumbled as soon as he was capable of coherent sentences again and was relived when he felt Jensen's resistance wear off, his arms now coming up to pull Jared closer to his heaving chest.

Huffing out a half-annoyed, half-amused breath, Jensen let Jared fall into him. “You're an idiot, Jay,”

“I know,” It was almost a sob that wrenched out of Jared's chest as he pushed closer, curling into the assassin. He didn't mind the leather harness pressing into his skin, or the blood still crusted on the assassin's hands, for Jensen's closeness meant safety and warmth.

“I came home to find your note and thought I was gonna go insane with worry. ' _Find me in Florence_ ' were your words and when I found your weapons gone I knew you were out to do something stupid,” Jensen continued with his voice tight, the grip he had on Jared unusually tender. “The thieves told me about your plans and when I arrived at the mansion, first thing I saw were all those guards and you on your knees—”

Jensen's voice trailed off as he pulled back, soft fingers combing through Jared's wet mane before sliding to the cuts and bruises blooming on the boy's cheeks. The skin was sore, cracked open where the guards had punched him repeatedly and the warm skin already started to swell. “Are you badly hurt?”

Jared shook his head. “'S okay, it's not so bad,” he replied truthfully and nuzzled into Jensen's palm.

“I will have Paola send for the dottore,”

“No, it's okay, really. I just need some sleep,” Jared reassured him, a small smile curling his lips. He felt exhausted, thoroughly worn out, and something inside his head told him that he wouldn't last any longer. His legs were already leaden, every inhale an effort he couldn't muster the strength for.

Jensen nodded. “I'll go and find a pigeon to send to Monteriggioni, let our Brothers and Sisters know we're safe.” His grip was tight when he lifted Jared from his spot against the wall with next to no effort, carrying him towards the cozy bed.

“That's very cheesy you know, carrying me to bed,” Jared slurred and his face scrunched up in discomfort as he hit the mattress. His body was sore all over and with all the pent up tension gone he felt a dull ache lingering in his every cell.

Jensen froze. “Don't get used to it,” was his clipped reply and then he threw the blanket he was holding into Jared's face and was gone the moment Jared curled into the sheets.

Jared tried really hard to stay awake, but after the exhaustion of the past hours sleep came easily and he drifted off after a few quiet minutes, surrounded by clean sheets and supported by a soft mattress. Curled into himself he appeared almost small and Jensen couldn't stifle the smile that curled his lips as he slipped back into the ample room half an hour later.

“Just a boy,” he muttered under his breath as he spread Jared's discarded robe over the back of a chair before ridding himself of his many weapons. His daggers stayed close to him even in his sleep as did the hidden blade, and they clattered quietly as Jensen slipped under the covers, somewhat startling the Jared.

“Jensen?”

“Shh, it's just me,” the assassin drawled and pulled Jared in until he rested against his chest, warm fingers curling into his robe. “Go back to sleep.”

 ♦ 

Jared woke up to a tingling sensation between his thighs and when he managed to crack an eye open, he found the room still covered in merciful half-light and Jensen kneeling between his legs, his pink tongue lapping lazily at Jared's cock.

“G-Good morning,” Jared peeped and rolled his head back, hips stuttering.

“Mhhn,” Jensen moaned, throat vibrating against Jared's strained flesh, pulling a low moan out of his chest. “You taste even better than you feel,”

Jared gasped. “J-Jensen—”

The assassin rolled his tongue one last time against the pink tip of Jared's beautiful cock then trailed his way back up, showering the bruised and sore skin with sweet little kisses. He was still angry, still wound up from yesterday's events and the clear evidence of violence on Jared's body sent his blood boiling and his nostrils flaring.

“There's still some time before we have to leave,” he whispered, his tongue licking around Jared's dusty pink nipple. With a groan he sucked the rosy nub in, surrounding it with the silken heat of his mouth and making Jared quiver with want.

“We s-should use it wisely then,” Jared moaned and his fingers came to rest on Jensen's back, clawing at the rough-spun robe.

Jensen's breath was a puff of hot breath against the smooth skin of Jared's neck as he laughed. “I'm already on it,” he drawled, pressing a kiss to Jared's throat. “Jared.”

And then Jensen's mouth was at Jared's, soft lips pulling him in for a messy kiss. It was absurdly arousing, their tongues clasping around each other, wet flesh melting together at a frantic pace, fingers entangling in a rush. Jared felt himself arching into the union, his body surrendering completely to waves of pleasure crashing against him. He somehow found the strength to buck off the mattress and with Jensen pliant and willingly, he rolled them around, finding himself in the assassin's lap.

“Jensen,” he whined and they kissed again, tongues, lips and teeth a sloppy mess. With Jensen's fingers moving down Jared's flanks, it felt like they'd been doing this all their lives. Nothing seemed off limits though everything was new and exciting and no word could describe the feeling that started to bloom in Jared's heavy chest.

“I think I like this position,” he whispered as he straightened himself up, Jensen sprawled underneath him in all his muscled glory, hair disheveled and lips shiny and swollen from the kiss. He still wore his robe, but Jared caught a glimpse of tanned skin beneath the collar, promising more.

Jensen laugh was gravelly. “That makes two of us,” he agreed and rested his fingers on Jared's thighs, the rough, calloused skin a stark contrast to the creamy flesh. His eyes were blotched with golden flecks, and Jared took his time admiring the view. It was a rare opportunity to have the assassin beneath him, stock still and waiting for Jared's next move. His chest rose and fell gently, the smooth muscles of his flat stomach bunching slightly when he moved to trail his fingers along Jared's thighs and Jared was almost dizzy with the thought of exploring what lay beneath the white fabric of the robe.

“I-I don't know what to do,” he admitted after a few minutes of quiet admiration. His hands had found their way to the planes of Jensen's chest, stroking the firm pecs and splayingg his palms against the warm muscles.

Jensen's lips curled into a smile. “You could move a little for a start,” he drawled, winking. He let his hips buck up just the slightest bit, nudging Jared's, and slowly they fell into a rugged rhythm.

“That's—that's really good,” Jared moaned after a few experimental tries, grinding harder as he watched Jensen's breath hitch. He was fully aware of his own nakedness, his warm skin fully exposed to Jensen's hungry gaze, and his cock bobbing against his stomach with every lazy roll of their hips. It felt sinful and right and Jared found himself moaning shamelessly as he felt the bulge of Jensen's cock rubbing along the crack of his ass.

“Do that again,” he wheezed and ground down harder, pressing back against the firm touch and cursing the layers of fabric that kept him from feeling the burn of Jensen's skin. But goddamn, the angle was just about right and the friction delicious, bringing Jared dangerously close to the edge with a few more thrusts.

Their movements became more erratic with every roll of their bodies, their breath soon coming in short, ragged gasps. Jared's body seemed to move on its own accord as he bent and stretched in Jensen's lap, letting Jensen ride the crack of his ass. His skin was slick with sweat and his hair cascaded down his shoulders as he let out a hoarse moan, his fingers fisting in the robe right above Jensen's chest. He looked beautiful like that, legs spread, cock jerking with the smooth roll of his hips, lips slightly parted, and Jensen felt himself drawn to Jared like moth to distant moon. He was close, so close, his balls tightening between his thighs, and it only took him another two or three frantic thrusts before he spilled into his pants, soaking them thoroughly with sticky wetness.

He moaned Jared's name as he came and shuddering he rocked up, and finally stilled, eyes wide open to drink it all in: the golden skin, the chestnut hair, the pink cock and the creamy come splashing out as Jared followed shortly.

“Jensen,” Jared whined as he slammed down one last time. "Fuck Jensen, I'm—"

“C'mere,” the assassin purred, gently coaxing Jared into his arms to pull him down and kiss him firmly. “I think that was a pretty wise use of time.”

Jared nodded, smiling, his wet lips rubbing against the stubble covering Jensen's jaw. “That makes two of us.”

They took their time coming down from their peaks, limbs entangled and lips brushing together in a languid kiss. Jensen's fingers were gentle when they combed through Jared's long hair and he tugged Jared close to his chest, holding him where his heart was slowly calming down. Eventually the city began to awaken around them, voices becoming loud near the windows and with the first beams of golden sunlight falling into their room—and just like that, reality made its appearance.

Jared's voice was small when he approached the delicate subject without further introduction. “Am I going to be banished from the Brotherhood?”

Jensen inhaled sharply. “No,” he sighed. “But there will be consequences.”

Jared nodded and the look on his face could only be described as sheepish. “What about the primary target, Giovanni Sivori?”

“He has to die,”

“By whose hand?”

Jensen's lips formed a thin line and his face hardened, eyes going dark. “Ours.”

Jared shot upright, mouth agape. “Ours? You mean you and me?” He blinked in confusion. After what had happened—after what he'd done—he was sure he was going to be expelled from the Brotherhood, his chance to become an assassin forever forfeit. But fate seemed to have other plans and Jensen only nodded in confirmation.

“But how do we find him? He escaped when I failed to kill Salvatore and no one—”

“By doing it the assassin's way,” Jensen cut him off, silencing him with a stern look. “With patience, skill and deception.”

“When?”

Jensen's lips stretched into a cruel little sneer, his body coming to sit next to his naked recruit. “The time to strike is now, Jared. Go and get your clothes and we'll see it done. Let's give you what was promised and take what should never have been given: Giovanni Sivori's petty life.”

“Sí,” Jared breathed and if he really meant to say ' _I love you._ ' he was sure Jensen already knew.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my baby and a dear treasure, because it melts two of my most beloved fandoms into one. It took me less than 48h to write it and it's a birthday present for my [sweet little bird](http://amenpadaleski.tumblr.com/). HAPPY BIRTHDAY baby, I love you so incredibly much. Thank you for never letting me down. You're a miracle.
> 
> [Stop by to say 'hello' if you feel like it](http://sunflowerbrother.tumblr.com/).


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